


Lapse

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Series: Witchy Pines [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 09:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14638773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: Stan has some memory problems.





	Lapse

“Mom?”

Stanford Pines opened his eyes, immediately unsure of what he’d heard. It took him a minute to remember where he was - the Stan o’ War II, somewhere in the middle of the Pacific with his brother - and as his mind processed these facts, the word that he’d heard sounded more and more incongruous. His gaze focused on the wooden wall next to his cot as he strained his ears, waiting for another sound.

“Ma? Dad? Shermie?”

It was Stan’s voice. Ford felt a lump drop into his stomach, tightening around his gut. He sat up and turned around, the blankets rustling around him (the thick goose down blankets Fiddleford had insisted they take when he’d found out where they were going - the memory mixed a little warm flutter into the worry filling his insides), and looked across the cabin at his brother in the other little bed.

Stan was sitting up, his eyes wide with fear, staring uncomprehendingly into the darkness. Ford’s mind raced, realizing what had happened and attempting to assert some kind of calm onto his thought processes. Stan was having a memory lapse - that was alright, it wasn’t the end of the world, it had happened plenty of times over the past few months - and his mind was probably projecting back to a time when they lived with their parents and their older brother Shermie hadn’t yet moved out, so that could be any age under 15. Alright. Ford breathed deeply. The important thing was to make sure Stan didn’t panic, but it was beginning to look like that frame of action should be applied to himself as well.

“Ford?” Stan’s gaze focused on him. “Who are you?” he whimpered, terrified. “Where’s my brother?”

Ford swung his legs off of his cot and carefully approached his frightened twin. “It’s okay, Stanley, I promise it’s okay,” he said, raising one of his six-fingered hands. “See? I’m Stanford. It’s alright.”

Stan’s eyes flickered back and forth from his hand to his face. “You - you can’t be him. You’re so old,” he whispered.

Ford desperately wanted to tell him that he was older too, that they were all grown up now. But he’d found that a sudden snapback from memory to reality could be dangerous for both of them, since Stanley’s gut reaction to anything abruptly startling was to punch it and he himself did not take kindly to being punched.

“What is this place?” Ford’s inner monologue was interrupted by Stan’s quivering, raspy voice, and was momentarily at a loss. As much as he hated lying to his own brother, he decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to tell him about their boat at present.

“Tell me where I am!” Stan needed an answer, fast. An idea occurred to him…

“You’ve been sick for a while, Stan,” Ford told him, trying not to let the lie show on his face, “so your family’s agreed that you’re going to stay here until you’re better.”

This appeared to sink in. “So you’re a doctor?”

That at least was true; he certainly had the PhDs to prove it. However, he could feel the sweat collecting on his forehead and pooling in his armpits - he couldn’t stall by lying forever, and at some point one of them would break.

Out of the fog of desperation, an idea suddenly emerged: sitting on his research desk further along the cabin was a sample of oil collected from an anomalous subspecies of tropical fish they had both discovered one day while diving for ancient ruins close to the atoll nearby. The happy little community of fish spent their days plucking algae and detritus off of the corals and rocks that kept them hidden and safe from the larger fish present in the reef, and glowed a soft blue at night, presumably to assist with finding a mate. Ford had collected some specimens to continue his studies, and had learned that a mixture of their fish oil and a few chemical compounds he’d brought from Gravity Falls had the ability to induce extreme calm and drowsiness for several hours. He wished he still had the finished potion handy, but he’d drunk it all one dark night when memories of glowing yellow eyes and weeks without sleep had become too much to bear.

“Well, I’m glad you woke up now, Stan,” he said, making his way over to his desk and the various tools and materials strewn over its surface. “I just remembered it’s time for your medicine.”

Stan exhaled, appearing to steady himself. “Alright.”

“Excellent. Now, can you tell me a little about yourself while I mix this up? What sort of books do you like? Do you read any comics?”

Stanley was reluctant to share at first, but quickly warmed up to his supposed pediatrician as he waxed excited prose about the adventures of Star Man and Dr. Seaweed, the titular characters and rival superheroes of his favorite comic series. As he worked, Stanford felt himself sinking slowly into the sea of nostalgia that his brother was calling up, and attempted to keep his mind on the task at hand while Stan continued to talk.

He remembered the times they’d played the roles of the gallant Star Man and the conniving Dr. Seaweed on the beach a little ways from their apartment. They’d brought water guns and had festooned themselves with slippery strands of seaweed and a live starfish, according to their respective characters. Ford could still picture the long weekend afternoon spent pounding across the baking sand and struggling through the cold surf, arguing over the capabilities of their water guns and sharing Pitt Colas in the shadow of the Stan o’ War taking shape on a quiet corner of the beach. That particular session of make-believe had been curtailed by Stan ending up with an angry rash on his cheek from where the starfish had tried to extrude its acidic stomach onto his face. That had taken some explaining at home, as he recalled. Stan had passed it off as a scrape on the glass shard-ridden sand, and probably would have been saddled with a much worse injury had the two boys not combined their strengths to peel the disgruntled echinoderm off and fling it back into the waves…

Ford awoke from his childhood reverie with a small start, and found the concoction completed under his hands, glowing a faint blue. Stan was still talking, cheerfully rhapsodising praise about the various plot twists and color usages featured in the comics they had both used to read. Ford almost didn’t want to interrupt him, but knew that bringing Stan’s mind back to the present was the top priority, as the potion should relax him enough to let the episode of amnesia dissipate.

“Thank you very much for talking to me, Stanley, it was very interesting. Now, do you think you could drink this for me?” He proffered the round bottle filled up to the neck with the blue potion.

“Oh, yeah.” Stan looked a little startled but took the bottle and raised it to his lips, emptying it in a few gulps. Ford hovered in front of Stan’s cot, waiting for some sort of a reaction.

A few uneasy moments passed, Stan looking nervously at the man standing over him, confused and discomforted by the sudden intense attention. Then all at once, his eyelids drooped and he slumped forward into Ford’s waiting arms. Ford held him firmly, and after a few seconds Stan responded with equal intensity.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” His voice came muffled from his face being pressed into Ford’s sweater, but he felt himself untense with relief - the childlike terror had gone, and Stan sounded like himself again. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Stan sighed heavily, and hugged his brother harder. “I’m alright now.”

The two brothers held each other tightly, the single square of cold light coming from one of the boat’s windows the only light visible from horizon to horizon on the dark sea surrounding them. As the pale stars twinkled in the black sky above, the Stan o’ War II continued to be cradled by the waves, safe and sound - at least for now, until the orange sun would usher in a new day with new dangers. Ones that Stanley and Stanford Pines would face together.


End file.
